


Ten Ways To Say "I Love You"

by DearSpencerReid



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-27
Updated: 2018-05-27
Packaged: 2019-05-14 05:47:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14763776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DearSpencerReid/pseuds/DearSpencerReid
Summary: There are plenty of ways to say those three little words; and as it turns out, Spencer knows many of them.





	Ten Ways To Say "I Love You"

_**o n e**_  
  
With every step that carried you from the stopped elevator towards the glass doors of the office, so grew your regret of not grabbing something, anything, to eat on your way over to the bureau. Although to be fair, you reminded yourself, it was more your newly broken alarm clock that made that sorry decision of skipping breakfast for you.  
  
As you pushed open the insignia marked doors, the faint, yet overwhelmingly sweet smell of cinnamon and freshly baked fruit filled your senses, instantly making the gnawing pit in your stomach grow sharper.  
  
You sighed, willing for the grumble in your abdomen to quiet down as your picked up the pace towards your desk. The appetizing aroma growing stronger until, as luck would have it, you passed by its source — sat neatly atop a napkin on Spencer desk, just adjacent to yours.  
  
“Is that blueberry?”  
  
Spencer looked up from his paper coffee cup to see you setting your bag down on the wooden top of your desk before reaching inside it, urgently in search of something.   
  
He hummed around he broken off piece of muffin in his mouth, swallowing and immediately mirroring the frown that you wore, “Yeah it is, from that little bakery by my place that you like.”  
  
Another growl emitted from your stomach at the mere thought of the bakery, one that if you had not already been preoccupied with finding your wallet, you most likely would have been mortified by.  
  
Especially when the volume alone was loud enough to draw another frown from Spencer, “Did you not eat breakfast?”  
  
“No,” you mumbled, your fingers finally wrapping around your wallet and pulling it out to check for any spare change that the vending machine would accept, “My alarm broke, so I woke up late. It was either shower or eat.”  
  
“You’re in luck then,” Spencer smiled, reaching for the white and mint green carryout bag from the bakery and taking out a pristinely wrapped second pastry.  
  
  **“I bought two.”  
**

* * *

**_  
t w o_**  
 **  
**Using the sole of your heeled boot, you pushed off against the carpeted floor below you and set the office chair into circular motion once more.  
  
The various shades of greys and blues that filled the behavioral analysis unit all blurred into one dull shade that sat somewhere in between. A pop of color momentarily appearing in your obscured vision, which you could only assume was a fellow agent casting you a side-eyed glance on their way past your desk.   
  
“If you keep doing that you’re going to make yourself sick.”  
  
Spencer’s amused voice landing on your right ear and then your left as the chair began to lose its momentum, causing you to come to a complete stop facing away from his desk.   
  
“I am not,” you huffed, nudging your foot against the leg of your desk to turn yourself just enough to face Spencer, “You sound like my mother.”  
  
“Well she sounds like a very smart woman,” Spencer quipped, raising his head up from the file he had been attempting to look over before you began amusing yourself in the meantime, “Maybe you should take our advice.”  
  
You shook your head and scoffed playfully at the pointed stare he shot you afterward, knowing full well that his front of irritation towards you was mostly a facade, “Oh, I’m sorry, doctor, am I annoying you?”   
  
Even though he had turned his attention back to the folder in his hands, a noticeable smirk blossomed across his lips, “Just a little bit, sunshine.”   
  
Placing your hands flat against the edge of your desk, you offered him a simple shrug in return, and despite biting at the skin of your bottom lip to suppress a smile of your own, one emerged across your features anyway.  
  
With a forceful push, you set the chair into rotation again. The room around you becoming obscured much faster and a sense of dizziness building in your mind this time, making your eyes close shut.   
  
You could faintly make out the sound of a door creaking open and slamming shut from somewhere around your revolving form, but you kept your eyes squeezed shut in fear of Spencer’s warning becoming reality — until the firm, alerting voice of Hotch caused them to fly open.   
  
“Agent Y/L/N?”   
  
Your feet planted themselves back on the floor in an instant. The shock of your sudden stop making your entire body jolt forward and nearly out of your chair as your eyes continued to spin. You gripped the chair’s arms and answered hesitantly, “Sir.”  
  
“I need you, as well as everyone else, in the conference room. We’ve got a new case,” Hotch spoke curtly, and despite the bleariness of your eyes, you swore that he wore the faintest hint of a smirk.  
  
You gave him an attempt at a nod, although it wound up looking more like a puzzled head tilt, and without a doubt in the world that they would not fail to hold you up, you rose to your feet.  
  
But, as you attempted to take a single step, your balance was thrown further off and your legs staggered. Your hands immediately flying out from your sides and searching for something to catch themselves on.  
  
 Expecting it to be the sturdiness of your desk that you felt beneath your touch, you gasped as your hand came into contact with the warmth of someone else’s skin and the fabric of a shirt.  
  
Fearful that you had just collided with an innocent person passing by you, your worries melted away at the sound of Spencer chucking, his hands moving to hold you steady by your elbows,  **“Be careful.”  
  
**

* * *

**_  
t h r e e_ **   
****

**  
**The atmosphere of the bar is far less lively than you can recall it ever being before.  
  
The rowdy shouts of drunken college kids have been replaced by the solemn laughter of two bartenders talking amongst themselves, and the usual blaring of Aerosmith over the speaker system is instead a song that you can only guess is by a one-hit wonder from the 90’s.  
  
It’s strange, not being in a buzzing and uproarious environment, but after a week spent tracking down a group of serial arsonists, it feels relaxing.   
  
Picking up the half-empty daiquiri that Garcia had ordered for you quite some time ago, you caught its thin plastic straw between your teeth and smiled at the hand gestures that Spencer used to emphasize whatever he had been passionately describing to Morgan.  
  
You had missed the beginning of their discussion, so rather than interrupt or listen intently enough to decipher the topic, you sank further back against the cushioned wall of the booth and lazily watched Spencer.  
  
The way he tapped his fingers mindlessly against his condensation covered glass of water, the tiny eyebrow raises that came when he agreed with something Morgan said, and how every now and then, if he spoke with too much enthusiasm, a lock of hair would fall into his face, which he would not push away until he was done talking.  
  
You felt bad in part for staring at him for so long, blaming the trace amounts of liquor in your bloodstream as the reason why. You tried to keep your admiration of him within the confines of your own mind and not express them too outwardly, especially when he was in close enough proximity to notice it.  
  
Garcia and JJ were unyielding on how oblivious you had to have been in order to think that your feelings for the genius were one-sided. You refused and refuted every reason and example they gave you as to why your affection towards Spencer was not unrequited, telling them time and time again that at the end of the day — you were friends, perhaps even best friends at that, and nothing more.   
  
And while it was disheartening to believe that all you had was the option to watch him longingly from across the table at a bar, it sufficed your heart just enough.  
  
At the sight of Spencer picking up his glass and taking a drink, you let your gaze fall away from him and towards your own drinking before taking the straw between your lips again and finishing it.  
  
Going to set the empty cocktail glass back on the table, you were quick to take notice that Spencer and Morgan had both shifted their attention away from each other and towards you.  
  
“You still with us, Y/N?” Morgan teased, nodding towards the lone lime residing on the edge of your drink.  
  
You snorted, jutting a finger towards the three bone dry, long neck bottles that collected in front of him, “I think I should be the one asking you that, Derek.”   
  
A warm, beaming smile grew across his face, a quiet laugh following soon after, “You and I both know that alcohol is one of the two things that I can handle very well.”   
  
Beside him, Spencer pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head. You giggled at his reaction, a taunting question forming on the tip of your tongue before being interrupted by the hushed shout of excitement that Morgan made.  
  
“This,” Morgan vaguely declared before pointing towards the speaker placed in the corner above your booth, “This song right here warrants a slow dance with my baby girl over.”  
  
You perked your attention up towards the song that Morgan had started lip syncing to. It was undoubtedly still a one-hit wonder from the 90’s but by a boy band this time. The lyrics bordered on being cliche, but the vocals and melody of the song made you softly smile.  
  
Morgan reached over to Spencer and clapped a hand on his shoulder, slightly jostling the drink in his hand. “Don’t miss the chance with yours either, pretty boy,” he didn’t bother to whisper or be discrete, throwing a wink towards you before clambering out of the booth to find where Penelope had wandered off to.   
  
You could feel warmth rising in your cheeks, mentally cursing Morgan and hoping that the dim lighting masked your embarrasment. Spencer quickly brought his glass the rest of the way up to lips, almost sputtering around the first sip that he took.  
  
The song reached its first chorus and from the corner of your eyes, saw that Morgan and Garcia were not the only ones in the middle of the bars dance floor. A dozen other couples had joined them, giggling and swaying to the beat of the song as best as their tipsy minds would grant them.   
  
Spencer noticed not long after you did, chuckling as one of the couples tripped over one another’s feet, “Looks like they’re having fun.”  
  
“I think it’s sweet,” you said without thinking, watching as the same couple laughed without restraint and gripped onto each for support.  
  
Spencer watched along with you for a moment more, then with a bout of courage, slid out from his seat opposite you and came to stand at the exit of your side. Clearing his throat, Spencer reached his hand in offering for you to take,  **“Can I have this dance?”  
  
**

* * *

**_  
f o u r_ **   
****

**  
**Not even a minute after finally allowing your heavy head to rest atop the last stack of unread files in front of you, a steady, rhythmic knock rapped against the door of the office you took vacancy in.  
  
An involuntary groan slipped past your lips and the throb in your head pulsed against your temple right after, causing you to wince before raising your voice just loud enough for the person on the other side of the door to hear.  
  
“It’s not my office, you can come in.”  
  
While keeping your head cast downwards against the pile of folders, you tilted it just far enough to watch as the hinged piece of oak creaked open at an agonizingly slow pace and the wary face of Spencer peaked around it.   
  
A lurch of discomfort hit hard in your stomach at the reveal, a harrowing feeling that brought with it an instant replay of the harsh words that had been thrown your way just hours earlier.  
  
Between an allusive unsub and a station full of uncooperative cops, as well as a complete lack of credible evidence due to their own malfeasance, tensions were high for everyone on the team. The taxing factors of the case all came to a roaring head as Spencer’s inability to profile the unsubs geographic area resulted in him taking his frustrations out on the person nearest to him — which regrettably, wound up being you.   
  
You knew that the jarring words that spewed from the doctor’s mouth were not a direct attack on you, that they were more so an unintentional expression of the stress he had been riddled with for the past three days. Yet, it did nothing to help bring the constriction in your chest to a stop or ease the tears that burned behind your eyes as you retreated as far away from him as possible.  
  
The incident thereby leaving you in a vacant office of the police station, surrounded by stacks upon stacks of case files to sift through until either you or Spencer mustered up the courage to face each other again.  
  
And judging by the way that Spencer remained in the doorway, his hands shoved deep in his pockets and his teeth relentlessly gnawing at his bottom lip, it had taken a lot for him to even prompt knocking.  
  
He spoke softly, your ebbing migraine thanking him as he did so, “Hi.”  
  
“Hey,” you echoed, your voice still slightly raspy as you slowly sat back up from your position and against the chairs wooden back.  
  
It was obvious that Spencer hadn’t prepared his words beforehand, allowing his fatigued eyes to drift away from yours and towards the mountain of files that you had actually managed to get through, “How many do you have left?”  
  
“Around twenty,” you mumbled, crossing your arms over your chest, “Luckily they started electronically logging their older records a few months ago, so instead of having to read through three hundred something, I only had two hundred something.”  
  
You hoped for that to elicit some form of reaction from Spencer’s uncharacteristically rigid demeanor, a chuckle, a sarcastic comment, even so much as a smirk, yet nothing came of it. Instead, he took the smallest step away from the doors exit and pulled his hands from his pockets, but didn’t allow for them to relax before he began wringing them together.   
  
You opened your mouth, close to speaking up against the habit that you believed he had quit before his words interrupted your intentions.   
  
“ **I’m sorry** ,” his voice was steadier than before, “ **I didn’t mean to**.”  
  
Shame flooded his eyes in remembrance of your crestfallen and blinking reaction towards him and the noxious way he handled his stress. You had seen him agitated before, and had unavoidably heard hushed retellings of his few irate moments from fellow team members, but you had never experienced it first hand. He never wanted you to. And yet, here he stood.  
  
“And I know that sorry doesn’t even begin to cut it. I was upset with myself and took it out on you, which was unfair and you didn’t deserve it. You didn’t deserve to be talked to that way and I—I’m sorry, sunshine. I’m so, so sorry.”  
  
He spoke fast, but his words were drenched in sincerity. Making a sad, weak attempt at a smile pull at your lips. You managed to whisper his name aloud before being interrupted again.  
  
“I understand if you’re not willing to forgive me yet. But if there’s anything I can do to prove how sor—”  
  
“Spencer!” you were the one to interject this time, speaking a bit louder than your forgotten headache would have liked, “If you keep cutting me off then I’ll never actually get around to accepting your apology.”  
  
He quieted his nervous rambles in an instant.  
  
“I forgive you,” you spoke, watching with a true smile as Spencer visibly relaxed. “But if you really wanted to make it up to me,” you waved vaguely towards the empty wooden chair opposite your side of the desk, “You could help me with the rest of these files?”   
  
Without so much as a second thought, Spencer was striding for that chair, reaching for the top half of your remaining pile as he sat down.  
  


* * *

_**  
f i v e**_  
  
“You have got to be kidding me.”  
  
The annoyance lacing your hushed tone drew Spencer’s attention away from the novel tucked in his hands and towards your defeated stance, which had slumped against the neighboring jet wall.   
  
You had left the comfort of your seat to venture towards the planes small bathroom just mere minutes ago, and in that time it appeared that Morgan had propped his legs up in place of where you sat; seemingly wanting to annoy you upon your return with the teasing statement of “ _move your feet, lose your seat_ ”, but had inadvertently fallen asleep in the short span of your absence.  
  
His now slouched and peaceful form viewable from where you stood by Spencers lounged position on the aircrafts sofa.   
  
The geniuses long legs taking up close to the entirety of it, nestled beneath the spare blanket kept on board, reading in the dim light coming from above his seat — looking as comfortable and close to sleep as your exhaustion wracked body wished that it could be.  
  
“Just go nudge his legs out of your seat,” Spencer suggested with a shrug, making it seem like the easiest task in the world.  
  
“But he’s asleep, Spence,” you pointed out, lulling your head against your shoulder and closing your eyes in accordance with their heaviness.   
  
“That’s never stopped you before, sunshine,” a smirk was evident in Spencer’s retort. A peek through your eyelashes towards him confirming what you heard.  
  
“This case was exhausting, he needs the sleep,” you managed to mumble out before a yawn escaped, rubbing at your bloodshot eyes with the heel of your palm right after, “We all do.”  
  
“Well what are you going to do then?” he questioned, his eyes landing on the few seats of the jet that were occupied by fellow team members that had long since fallen asleep.   
  
You groaned quietly and rubbed at your eyes again, the fatigued state of your mind not having allowed you to think that far ahead as to where you were supposedly going to rest for the duration of the flight.   
  
Spencer sat up a bit from his lounged position on the couch, thereby freeing up half of it, and tugged the blanket down until one half covered his legs and the rest laid on the empty space beside him.   
  
“Come on,” he nodded to the right of him, easing back into the corner of the cushions, “ **There’s enough room for both of us**.”  
  


* * *

_**  
s i x** _

**  
**The nickname had seemingly come out of nowhere and stuck just as quickly, so much so that it had come to replace the use of your name in Spencer’s vocabulary altogether.  
  
To the point that it often times took the pointed stares of Rossi and Hotch to remind the doctor of how unprofessional the epitaph could sound in your specific line of work.   
  
You never quiet questioned too deeply the origins of the nickname or its longevity, but there were occasions when it peaked your interest more than usual. Especially upon realizing that unlike most nicknames given to members of the BAU, Spencer remained to be the only one who referred to you as “sunshine”.  
  
Regardless, you still didn’t delve too deeply into the reasoning behind this, instead, your thoughts were drawn towards the possible nicknames you could dub Spencer in return.  
  
The prime opportunity to try out your newly created endearment for the genius arose one night as the two of you lounged on separate ends of Spencers worn in leather sofa, the end credits of an episode of Star Trek rolling across his television screen as he picked up the remote from its resting spot in between your relaxed bodies and spoke up.   
  
“What do you want to watch now, sunshine?”  
  
“Whatever sounds good to you, Starlight.”   
  
As the last consonant left your lips, the remote slipped from Spencer’s grip and his gaze sharply shifted towards you, curious and questioning.   
  
“I’m sorry,” he swallowed, unsure of himself as to what he had just heard, “Did you just call me ‘starlight’?”  
  
You gave a distracted and simple hum of affirmation, adjusting the throw pillow tucked beneath your head, completely oblivious to the shade of red that was rising higher and higher in Spencer’s cheeks.   
  
“Why?” he nearly blurted out, clearing his throat afterward in an attempt to settle his voice. Even he was surprised as to how flustered he was becoming.  
  
“Well you can me ‘sunshine’,” you began, propping yourself up onto your elbows to get a better view of him just beyond the bend of your knees, “And ‘starlight’ is kind of the opposite of ‘sunshine’.”  
  
Spencer shook his head at the answer you gave, as well as the scientific inaccuracy of your justification, “No,  _why_  did you call me ‘starlight’?”  
  
“Oh,” you chuckled at yourself, “I figured since you call me by a nickname a lot, you should have one in return. Besides, I thought it was cute.”  
  
“I do not use it that often,” he attempted to debate you, honestly unaware of how many times the word subconsciously fell from his tongue.   
  
“You literally call me ‘sunshine’ all the time!” you sat up now, a laugh of pure disbelief bubbling from you as you did so, “When we were on that case in Kentucky last year, the sheriff asked JJ if my parents were apart of some hippie commune because that’s all you called me.”  
  
You watched as Spencer thought back to that case, remembering the instances where he did refer to you by the doting nickname rather than by ‘Y/N’ while going over evidence or telling you of information that Penelope had found.   
  
“That doesn’t mean you have to give me a nickname in return,” he murmured, bashfully tucking back a loose curl from his eye line.  
  
“I wanted to, starlight,” you smiled softly, watching as his eyes flickered away from his mismatched socks and over to you quickly. A dimple appearing as he did so.  
  
You allowed a beat of silence to pass by before you decided to delve too deeply for once, “Why do you call me ‘sunshine’ all the time anyway?”  
  
“Because I — ” Spencer caught himself quickly, cutting himself off and swallowing the rest of that sentence before beginning again, “ **Just because**.”  
  
“Just because?” you questioned, having noticed the quick switch in Spencer’s tone as he changed his answer.  
  
That was the only response you were left with though, as Spencer parroted the hum you gave him earlier. Clicking on the first movie that popped up on this menu screen and turning the volume up, successfully drowning out your conversation in the process.  
  


* * *

  
_**s e v e n**_  
 **  
**It had taken a moment for your conscious mind to comprehend what had woken you up.  
  
Your body lurching upright in an instant as the loud, vibrating sound of aluminum colliding against tile rang through your small apartment. The unfiltered sunlight streaming through uncovered windows blinded you and only added to your confusion, your hands flying up to protect your eyes.   
  
More commotion could be heard from your kitchen as the source of the awakening noise panicked and attempted to retrieve the fallen pan from the ground. Their words just as alarmed as their actions as they spewed apologies, your heart rate beginning to settle at realizing who the familiar tone came from.  
  
Immediately you peeled your hand away from your eyes, the appearance of your living room coming into a clearer view as you did so. Everything the same as you remembered it from the night before, now with the addition of a blanket folded neatly in the armchair beside you and the sight of Spencer standing in front of your coffee table.  
  
His hair stuck up in complete disarray, wearing one the t-shirts he had lent you some time ago which never quite found its way back to his own apartment along with the same navy slacks he had worn the day prior at work. A shy, apologetic smile on his lips.  
  
“I was going to make you breakfast, but then the pan fell and I guess that woke you up, and I really didn’t want to wake you up before I was done — ” he cut his own rambling short at the soft smile you gave his way.  
  
“It’s okay, Spence,” you assured him, easing against the back of your couch and bringing a hand up to wipe away the sleep still lingering in your eyes, only to wince at the tenderness.   
  
You brought your hand back down and sighed, thinking about how puffy and bloodshot your eyes must have looked after the mass of tears they shed throughout the entire night.   
  
It wasn’t as if Spencer would ever mind however, especially when he was there for the brunt of them.   
  
Doing his best to comfort them away the moment he arrived at your apartment, listening to your recounting of the phone call you received before dialing his number directly afterward. Wanting to assure you that the argument that ensued over that phone call was not to your fault and that your parents would come around to understand your point of view soon enough.  
  
Spencer made his way around the coffee table and sat beside you. The dip in the cushion and the lingering trace of his cologne brought with it an instant feeling of comfort.  
  
“Do you want to talk about it?”  
  
You laughed in spite of yourself, “Didn’t I do enough of that last night?”  
  
Spencer shrugged, unsure of what to say in return and not wanting to push you any further than you were okay with.  
  
“I’m sorry for calling you over here so late. I highly doubt that was the way you wanted to spend your night,” you sniffed, dragging your gaze away from his and towards the patterns of the blanket covering you. You didn’t remember grabbing one. Or falling asleep for that manner.   
  
“Sunshine, you know I don’t mind,” he attempted to soothe your worries, drawing your attention back towards him. His hazel eyes truthful and sympathetic, but still tired.  
  
“No, really,” you shook your head gently, reaching out to tame down one of the unruly curls that jutted from the side of his head, “I shouldn’t have called you over here because of something so stupid.”  
  
As you withdrew your hand, Spencer caught it gently within his own, bringing it down to rest conjoined on his knee as he gave it a reassuring squeeze and spoke.  
  
“ **I will always be here for you**.”  
  


* * *

  
_**e i g h t**_  
  
As soon as your eyes caught sight of his disheveled head of mousy curls, your feet were in motion. Rossi couldn’t even stop you from darting in the direction of the ambulance that he was sat in, but it wasn’t as if he necessarily tried all that had either.  
  
Your legs ached as they lead you across the dirt compacted driveway, narrowly missing the numerous police cars and emergency response workers that littered your path towards Spencer.   
  
The harsh flashing lights of the ambulance stung at your eyes the closer that you got, reducing Spencer and the paramedic assessing him down to silhouettes washed in red and blue, but your gaze stayed set and your stride carried on.  
  
You hesitated upon reaching the back of the ambulance, not daring to bound up the single step that would lead you inside with Spencer and disrupt the EMT from ensuring that the unsubs bullet had missed and left him unscathed.  
  
A shaky breath fell from your lips as you watched the uniformed nurse slide Spencer shirt back down over his rib cage and confirm that the bullet had, in fact, missed him and that he was free to go. Your presence was acknowledged by the two men thereafter, with the nurse giving you a curt nod of his head and a thumbs up as he stepped out of the ambulance — wordlessly informing you that it was okay for you to enter after him.  
  
With shaky, yet urgent steps, you clambered into the ambulance and immediately wrapped your arms around Spencer’s neck. The warmth and weight that came from his arms finding their way around your waist in return alleviated the nightmarish possibilities that had been plaguing your mind since being separated from him.  
  
You pulled away from the embrace, albeit hesitantly, to take a step back and give him a once-over yourself.  
  
Spencer took notice of the way your eyes scanned over his features, almost fearfully, as if you would spot a gash or contusion that the paramedic had by chance missed.   
  
He moved his hands from where they remained on the lower of your back, up to your upper arms. Grounding your worries as he ran his thumb back and forth, a reassuring smile sprouting from him as he spoke, “I’m okay.”  
  
“Ever since —” you shook your head, feeling the beginnings of tears start to make their way into the corner of your eyes, “Ever since Mills, and everything that happened in Texas … I can’t bear the thought of something like that happening to you again.”  
  
Spencer felt his chest tighten at your words, silently cursing himself for the distress he had unwillingly caused you.   
  
“I know,” he sighed, wishing that he could assure you that nothing like McGregor’s group would ever occur again, “But right now, I’m fine, okay?  **Don’t worry about me**.”   
  
“Easier said than done, genius,” you mumbled, feeling Spencer slide his hands back down your arms before pulling your body back into his. The corners of his lips turning up against the crook of your neck as he tightened his arms around you.  
  


* * *

_**n i n e**_  
  
Spencer could hear your laugh from across the office. One of such an unadulterated reaction that he could practically see and hear you clasp your hand over your mouth in mild embarrassment right after.   
  
The mental image of you continuing to laugh, much quieter this time, from behind the barrier of your hand elicited a chuckle from the doctor himself as he disposed of his empty water bottle and strode out of the office’s kitchenette, back in the direction of his desk.  
  
And just as he had pictured it, there you stood in front of your office chair, a hand still partially covering your mouth as you spoke freely with JJ, who was presumably the cause behind your amusing outburst.  
  
Settling back into his desk, Spencer watched as you began to wave JJ off, whispering something towards the blonde that made her laugh and raise her hands in apparent surrender. She turned and looked to be heading towards her own desk to pack up for the night, but not before stopping to call out to you, “Have fun tonight.”  
  
You stopped in your motion of picking up the files that scattered your desk, shaking your head at the agent’s words, before returning the folders into a neat pile and looking up to find Spencer wearing a quizzical smile and raised eyebrow.   
  
“Got plans tonight, sunshine?”   
  
You could have cursed the genius and his use of that nickname at that moment. Instead, however, you pushed your chair back into its place and picked up your bag from the ground.  
  
“Do you remember the guy that moved into my building last week?” you gestured your hand in the direction of which his apartment sat down the hall from yours, continuing once Spencer nodded, “Yeah, well, it turns out that he’s actually new to the area, too. He asked me if I could show him around a little bit tonight.”  
  
Spencer felt his face flush, the words he thought leaving his mouth before he could stop them, “So you’re going on a date?”   
  
You gave out a breathy laugh, his reaction much the same to that of JJ’s, “It’s not a date. We’re probably not even going to dinner, I’m just going to be showing him around the neighborhood.”  
  
Spencer bobbed his head, albeit reluctantly, before diverting his eyes away from you and towards the nameplate sat in front of him. A cavalcade of emotions thrust into his mind at the thought of you spending the night out with this imposing stranger — this outside factor that Spencer always feared would appear before he managed to find that bravery within himself.   
  
“Spence,” you weren’t oblivious to the change in his demeanor as you swung your bag over your shoulder, but you were to the reasoning behind it, “You alright?”  
  
He was quick to feign contentment. Far too quickly for you to believe it.  
  
“Yeah, I’m fine,” he glanced down at his wrist, barely registering what the numbers of his watch reading, “It’s already pretty late, you don’t want to keep this guy waiting too long.”  
  
You watched the smile he forced, wanting to find the root cause behind it. But a glance at the hour displayed across your phones home screen proved the doctor to be right.   
  
“Alright,” you said to yourself, picking up keys up from the desk and stepping out from the area designated as yours, “Well, wish me luck.”   
  
Spencer gave you a thumbs up, his smile a touch more genuine at the gesture. You began to make your way towards the insignia marked doors and the elevators just beyond them when the call of your name stopped you, turning back to see Spencer stood a few feet away from his desk now,  his hands burying themselves deep into his pockets as he spoke.  
  
“ **Call me if you need anything**.”   
  


* * *

  
_**t e n**_  
  
This was far from the way that Spencer anticipated his night, or any other day of his life, to go.  
  
But as your hands threaded deeper into his hair and his lips pressed against yours hungrily once more, he couldn’t find it within himself to wish for anything different.   
  
He had offered to walk you home from the karaoke bar that the team had been celebrating at; rattling off statistics of how crime rates increased at night and insisting that your safety meant more to him than sticking around to watch Morgan slaughter the name of Oasis with his rendition of ‘Wonderwall’. You had agreed with little coercion.   
  
The walk back to your place was short-lived, with Spencer’s ears burning hot every time you pressed close to his side in order to let someone pass by you on the sidewalk, as well as when you mentioned that you, as well as Hotch, had captured his group performance of ‘Piano Man’ and that you couldn’t wait to watch it again.  
  
He hadn’t been surprised when you invited him inside upon arriving at your numerically marked, green painted door, or when you threw your legs across his lap when sitting down next to him on your sofa.  
  
What he hadn’t been expecting of was the unfamiliar glint in your eye as you spoke to him, your faces much closer than what he was accustomed to, or the way that he so eagerly fell into the way your lips brushed against each other.   
  
It had started out innocently enough, Spencer’s mind too overwhelmed with the feel of your lips against his to bring his other senses to fruition. But the moment that your fingers found their way up the sensitive skin of his neck and into his dismayed curls, his hands found their home on either side of your face, bringing you impossibly closer to him.   
  
Which made it even harder for him to disconnect from your lips as the kiss deepened into something more.  
  
“We can’t do this.”  
  
You began to second guess everything as his whisper fell across your cupid’s bow. The signs you believed he had begun to display that maybe proved your love wasn’t as unrequited as you initially thought. The daily repetition of words that you heard from Penelope and JJ that you finally allowed yourself to fall victim to.  
  
“Wh-why not? Do you not want this?”  
  
Spencer quickly shook his head, tracing his thumb over the span of your cheekbone, “I’ve wanted this for as long as I’ve known you.”  
  
You felt your heart drop, your hands clinging onto his wrists to keep them in place, “Then why did you stop?”  
  
The answer he gave was obvious.  
  
“Because  **I love you** , and I don’t want this to be the way I prove it to you.”

 


End file.
